


Worth the Price

by Vevici



Series: On the Warden-Commander Vie Mahariel [4]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vevici/pseuds/Vevici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 1 : Alistair and Morrigan performs the Dark Ritual<br/>Chapter 2: Alistair and Mahariel deal with the aftermath; both burdened with guilt and betrayal, will their relationship be the same?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

          The rustling of sheets had never been so vulgar; the slap of her thighs against his, the sweat trickling down his temple, each roll of her hips churned the bile that threatened to rise. There was no amount of Dwarven ale in Thedas that could sway Alistair into _this_.

          But desperation did. Desperation, and the right words from the right person. A grain of hope.

          Morrigan stopped. Alistair almost sighed, only managed to hide his relief as he remembered what he was supposed to do. But Maker, it was a million times more horrible than he thought. Already feeling Morrigan’s scowl, Alistair lifted his arm from his eyes to peer at the woman.

         “You’re making this harder than it should be.”

         Her exasperation must have been truly great for her eyebrows to be knit so tightly.

         “Oh, nothing is hard here.”

         She grunted her disapproval, folded her arms under her breasts. Alistair echoed the sound, adding a mocking twist on his lips, then dropped his arm back over his eyes.

         “’Twas my impression that both of you agreed to the ritual, to save both your lives.”

         Alistair’s tongue turned bitter. To hear Morrigan say it like that, it felt as though they were cheating. Skirting their duty as Grey Wardens, placing their feelings above their oaths.

        “Why do you think you’re still sitting on me?”

        Morrigan slapped his side. Had he been willing to touch any more of her than he already was, and the fact that the ritual _was_ necessary, Alistair would have shoved her away and stormed out of the room. He might even storm right out of Denerim.

Maker’s breath. He did not want to look at her, nor hear her, much less feel her. But to close his eyes only heightened his senses. Out of all the times that Alistair’s body had reacted on insticnt, this one time when he welcomed the lack of control, it failed him.

        Morrigan ran her hand over his chest, a cold trail that froze the muscles they glossed over. Her touch was nothing like Vie’s. She was not Vie. The Creators and the Maker must have bent over slapping their knees as they created the two women at polar opposites. Oh yes, let’s make Alistair’s life as unfortunate as possible. That would be the funniest thing!

        Alistair’s stomach prickled as a finger trailed the hairs down his navel.

        “Believe what you will, Alistair,” Morrigan said. “But I want this to be successful. For my goals, as well as for Mahariel’s sake.”

        Alistair sat up, abrupt enough for Morrigan to lose her balance. He gripped her arms, steadied her and kept her in place. For all her bluster and supposed wisdom, Morrigan had her own insecurities – weaknesses. Wrapped up much better than the woman usually was, they were hard to detect. But Alistair was a fast learner. Qeustioning her motivation for joining their party had always forced the witch to be on the defensive; and that defence – coldness and derision, glowed in her yellow eyes.

        “You never cared before,” Alistair said, “unless it suited you.”

        Morrigan jutted her chin.

        “Why would you care about Mahariel?” Alistair asked past his gritted teeth. “What are your plans for her?”

        If the pressure of his fingers pained Morrigan, she masked it with a sneer.

        “I have no plans for her Alistair, save that to make sure she does not pay the sacrifice inexplicably imposed on the Grey Wardens. She has wisdom, and I have learned plenty from her. Clever in the battlefield, steadfast in mindset. I respect her for that.” She raised an eyebrow, a challenge for Alistair to tease her on her sentiment.

        Her sombre tone almost convinced Alistair; it was the echoes of his Templar training that resisted the need to trust her.

        Morrigan’s hand came to his shoulders, pushed down until Alistair was on his back again. “‘Tis a long time before dawn, but I’d rather not drag this longer than necessary. Now, will you cooperate?”

        “I’ve been trying to do that from the beginning.”

        Alistair replaced his arm over his eyes, the other splayed out at his side. Morrigan raked a finger along his hip bone, lower and lower, following the veins, then hair, then back to veins. A groan escaped his clenched jaw as long fingers gripped him – pumping, switching between a caress and a squeeze.

        “I never thought I’d be saying this to you,” Morrigan rasped, “but you are thinking too much.”

        Eyebrows knitted, Alistair willed himself into arousal.

        “Concentrate on the sensation. If you must, then think of her.”

Right. That’ll make this whole act feel cleaner.

        Morrigan leaned forward, her breasts firmer, lighter, than Alistair was used to. She rolled her hips, nipped at his collarbone. There was nothing in the deliberate ways she moaned and panted that resembled Vie. Morrigan was direct, always headed straight for a goal; Vie lingered, explored, took one step a time, yet never hesitated.

        The weight on his chest shifted to his abdomen; teeth scraped at his thighs. A flick of her tongue sparked a nerve, drew a gasp.

        Alistair dragged his thoughts to the time their group was able to recuperate in the Dalish camp. Vie had been lightning itself – charged, mischievous, dazzling. She had pulled him into the forest, coy smiles and throaty giggles. Nothing could have prepared Alistair as she had shoved him against a tree and knelt in front of him. His moans could have woken a slumbering Revenant there and then, but he hadn’t cared, not when her plump lips kissed and nipped, not when she deviously chuckled around him.

        Alistair’s mind clung to the memory desperately just as his fingers grabbed at the sheets. The bed dipped, thighs straddled his hip, a hand stroked his shaft - guiding.

        “Maker’s breath.”

        It was embarrassing how eager his hips bucked to meet the heat offered to him; but the steady grind of her hips, interrupted only by the occasional roll, soon chased Alistair’s hesitation away. Years of training as a warrior honed his focus to a sharp point, and he aimed it now at the slick friction between his legs.  Her breath came heavy and erratic above him, a mix of a moan and whine, as Alistair met her thrusts with his own. They increased their pace, hit harder, gave more.

        Alistair’s hands clamped on her hips. He forced Vie's figure to the front of his mind; her dark hair falling over her shoulder, strands parting around the swell of her breasts. He could almost hear the laugh from her lips as she had ridden him on their first night. Maker’s breath. That such a slight figure had managed to take him fully and smoothly had sent all the blood rushing south.

        A nip on his neck made Alistair throw his head back, deeper into the pillow. He dug his nails into the soft flesh of her bottom, and yanked her closer just as he bucked upward. He felt the groan deep in her chest before he heard it muffled against his shoulder.

        She was close, if the moans and the _yes_ that flowed freely from her throat were to go by. With an arm wrapped around her waist, Alistair flipped. He braced his forearms above her head as he moved against her. Control had finally left him, and Alistair readily gave in to his carnal desires. His movements became short, fast, and erratic; all the while the nails on his back egged him on. Gasps filled his ears until he heard nothing else. His muscles were strained, coiled, as heat gathered between his legs; his toes curled, throat constricted, eyes shut. There was a gasp beneath him, legs tightened around his waist, and she squeezed around him.  A shudder ran up his spine and down to his arms as he gave a last push of his hips. His lips kissed a name.

        Alistair stilled, waited for their pleasure to ebb. His heart was just settling into its normal rhythm when a pat to his side shook him off his haze.

        “You are heavy, Alistair.”

        Alistair rolled off Morrigan, grunting as he felt himself pull out of her. Despite his shaky knees, he slid off the bed and began donning his trousers.

        She chuckled. Alistair could just see the smug curl on her mouth.

        “Did you hate it as much as you thought you would?”

        Sweat glued his shirt to his back and his skin smelled of sex and Morrigan. “No, I didn’t.” He didn’t bother with his belt and boots, opting to just gather them in his arms. “Not even I could come up with this level of loathing and revulsion.”

        He strode to the door, eager to escape her room. But her next words barred his exit.

        “If you love her as much as I think you do, then you made the right decision here, Alistair.”

If he loved her _._ No one could possibly understand the enormity Vie was to Alistair’s existence. Especially not a witch who was raised in isolation by a vengeful crone. Maker’s breath, he would let darkspawn swallow Thedas if Vie was taken from him. Alistair turned, fixed his glare on Morrigan.

        “If it doesn’t work, if this fails and Vie dies, I will come after you no matter what hole in Thedas you'd have crawled into.”

        Morrigan lifted her chin, a promise burned in her own eyes. Then she nodded.

        Alistair wrenched the door. He marched through dark halls and empty stairwells. The filth and shame in his skin would not be washed off, but Maker, he’ll try. Alistair would peel his own skin off before he’d let Vie touch him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahariel had made a decision, the hardest one she had ever made. No matter the outcome, this one she would forever carry on her shoulders.

Grass scratched at her nose, soil and leaves threatened to choke her as she gulped frigid air. No use. Pain lanced her rib. It allowed her only shallow breaths. She was running out. Already her vision was failing. It was all too much: Tamlen, Darkspawn, the armies, Loghain, the Archdemon. Alistair. Mahariel blinked back the panic, swallowed her guilt. Not now. They were so close.

                She tried to twist on her back but only succeeded in digging the stone deeper into her rib. Mahariel was somehow sprawled on her side, legs tangled in vines. She had been running, yes. From Redcliffe Castle. Running, then crying. Then retching. By the Creators, she couldn’t feel her arms. If they’ve been broken…

                Mahariel stilled. A voice, calling to her. She listened beyond her panting. Yes, it was a voice she knew. “Leliana. Leliana!”

                Footsteps crunched higher up the trail. Mahariel craned her neck at the bobbing ball of light that silhouetted three figures. Dust and loose stones tumbled down the path as three pairs of boots jogged toward the undergrowth Mahariel had crawled into. She reached a hand, palms upturned.

                The world rushed back into focus when Leliana’s fingers closed on her hand. Mahariel’s chest heaved, desperate for breath, her grip locked on Leliana’s blouse. Mahariel could feel Leliana’s words against her chest, but their meaning slipped her mind. Twigs snapped and leaves bounced on the ground. Mahariel winced as the blue light brightened. A steady thrum rose above the murmurs and the increasingly sour air. Mahariel latched on it, matching her breathing to its rhythm.

                A touch on her back made Mahariel open her eyes.

                “You will be alright, dear one,” Wynne said. “Take a deep breath now.”

                Mahariel did so. Liliana, steadying her by the arms, offered an encouraging smile. Over her shoulder Zevran leaned against a tree, looking nonchalant except for the tightness at the corners of his eyes.

                Again, the tears fell. Wynne’s magic tingled at the back of Mahariel’s head, but for all the calm that it brought her mind, it could not stop the guilt and disgust that ate her heart. Leliana pulled her into an embrace, rocking her as sobs shook her shoulders.

                Mahariel had promised that she wouldn’t hurt Alistair. How many times had she broken it now? How many times must she do it again for the good of Ferelden? For herself?

                She had left too much, given more than what she had, yet they asked for more. Was it wrong to cling onto the one good thing she had in her life?

                “Oh, Maha.” Leliana sighed, brushing Mahariel’s hair. “It’s not wrong. You are not selfish.”

                The thrum strengthened, vibrating the air. Warmth spread over her back and Mahariel’s eyes drooped, her breathing slowed. Fingers pried her hands from Leliana but she hugged her tighter.

                “Shh. We’ll take you inside now, my dear. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

                An arm slipped under Mahariel’s knees and another cradled her shoulder. Mahariel snuggled into the warm leather; she only felt Zevran’s lips on her head before sleep took her completely.

 

* * *

 

Like a warm touch that tickled her palm and trailed along her fingers, the dream drifted from Mahariel. Heavy covers pressed her into the mattress, almost stifling with the heat from the hearth. With a kick, the blankets slid off her torso. That was when she heard his sigh.

                It could have been the fire that gave his skin a warmer tinge, but the long red strokes on his neck and forearms, along with the dampness of his uncombed hair told something else; Alistair had scrubbed himself raw and he only stopped recently. Arms folded on his chest, he stood frigidly three feet from the bed looking very much like he didn’t want to touch anything in the room. Especially her.

                Tears pricked at Mahariel’s eyes, making her frown in the attempt to control them. Alistair’s eyes flicked to the ground. He took a step away from the bed post and towards the door.

                Mahariel scrambled to her knees. “ _Vhen_ ' _an'ara_.”

                Alistair chuckled, more sad than amused. “I still don’t know what that means.”

                Though his jaw clenched, Alistair did not withdraw; Mahariel slid to the edge of the bed, the stone sapped the heat from her feet but the coldness grounded her. Mahariel noted the angry scratches that lined Alistair’s collarbone. They disappeared under the collar of his shirt, no doubt crossing over his chest and stomach. And everywhere else Morrigan had touched. Mythal have mercy on her. How could she have asked Alistair to bed the woman who had always nettled and criticized him? The two only barely tolerated each other for her sake.

                Mahariel yearned to soothe the long gash on his neck, but she would not risk Alistair shying away from her. She could hardly blame him if he did.

                His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

                “I forced you again,” Mahariel said. She pressed her fists against her thighs, but she refused to release Alistair’s gaze. “You didn’t want the throne, but I made you sit on it. And when you decided to do your duty as king, I wouldn’t let you go. Now I’ve asked you to sire a…” Another royal bastard.

                The knot in Alistair’s brow tightened the more she spoke. By the time her voice faded he was shaking his head, gems of tears clung to his lashes.

                “I am so sorry, Alistair. Can you ever forgive me?”

                Alistair sucked in a breath through his teeth. He turned his back to her, head lowered to avoid her eyes as he paced to the hearth. Anvil lifted his head from his paws to glance at the man standing over him, then immediately went back to sleep.

                If only Mahariel could pull Alistair to bed and wake up like everything was as it should be. Instead she watched the muscles on his back writhe as he thought, unable to move or make a sound. This was how Andraste must have felt; helpless, forced to endure the fear as the flames bit her toes, forced to live through the pain until the inevitable end came. The difference was that Andraste did not deserve it.

                Then Mahariel’s arrow came. Alistair strode toward her, heavy and slow. Mahariel instinctively straightened her spine. Please, she wanted to say. Leave me if you must, but don’t remember me with hate in your heart. She could only say his name before he dropped to his knees, wrapped his arm around her waist while the other hand cupped her head, trembling and gentle. Mahariel blinked, both to clear her watery vision and in confusion. Then her heart drummed a hopeful beat.

                “Alistair?”

                “Even after what I did,” he said in wonder. He nuzzled harder into the crook of her neck. “I thought I’d, I don’t know, taint you if I touched you. I thought for sure that you’d look at me differently. Maker’s breath, I’ve betrayed you; I should be the one apologizing.”

                Fools, both of them.

                Mahariel softened into Alistair’s embrace, arms wrapping his shoulders. “I’m already tainted, remember?”

                “More tainted, then, if you want to get technical.”

                Fingers threading through Alistair’s hair, Mahariel planted a kiss on his neck. “You did not betray me, _vhen'an'ara_. You only did what I selfishly asked.”

                Alistair drew away then, his frown back in place. He wiped the tear stains on her cheeks with his thumb. His eyes twitched as they caught something. Tenderly, he brushed the scratches that arched over Mahariel’s left eyebrow down to her temple. He raised an eyebrow in suspicion as his hands slid down her arms; his right hand stopped as it felt the bandages on her left arm. Alistair shook his head, eyes wide. “I’ve hurt you.”

                Mahariel pulled his face closer and looked him in the eyes. “Worse if I lose you, Alistair. I cannot let that happen. I won’t allow it. So many people, so many what if’s have slipped through my fingers, and I moved on because there was nothing I could have done then. The Dread Wolf take me if I don’t hold onto you with everything I have.”

                Alistair sighed, a small smile on his lips. He ran his knuckles along Mahariel’s cheek; his eyes followed the slant of her eyebrows, lingered on her large eyes, drifted down her nose, and rested on her lips. “May I?”

                Mahariel licked her lips. “Please.”

                There was hesitance in Alistair’s kiss. One that Mahariel chased away with three words: “Vhen’an’ara. Heart’s desire.”

                Alistair kissed her again. And again. Then twice more.

                It was only when Mahariel pulled the sheets over both of them that Alistair turned timid. “I don’t think,” he began, but never finished.

                “Just lie with me, _arasha_.”

                “Oh, so I have to guess what that means now?”

                Mahariel smiled. “Kiss me one more time, then take me in your arms until dawn comes”

                And so he did. Arms firm around her waist, his breath tickled the crown of her head as Alistair curled round her. “Then we march.”

                Mahariel pressed her forehead against Alistair’s chest, felt his heart pump the same taint that raged in her veins. The key to their victory and the seal on their sacrifice.

               “And then we march.”


End file.
